Kani never believed one could love like this — to the point of aching bones, to a trembling in the very air.

He grew up in a house where tenderness was a foreign word. People shouted there, but never asked for forgiveness. Everyone pretended the cracks in the walls were merely a trick of light. He learned to be silent. In school, he kept to himself. At university — the same. Only books. Only silence. Friends seemed an unnecessary luxury to him.

And then you appeared.

At first — just voices in a crowd. Then — running through the rain, when clothes clung to the body and laughter tore from the chest as if for the first time. You watched films and wept over the death of a dog as though it were your shared sin. You came to him in bitter frost, having heard how hoarse his voice sounded over the phone. You didn't ask permission. You simply were there.

And for the first time, Kani understood what love was.

Not words. Not vows. But a warm, living heat in the chest. Longing for a person every minute. The willingness to walk barefoot over scorching stones, if only they would breathe beside you.

You became each other's home. Then — spouses. The wedding was loud, bright, full of strangers' smiles and beloved hands. Your parents accepted him as though he had always belonged to that home. Kani prayed to the gods that this happiness would never end.

But one day, on a rainy day when the sky wept in grey threads, some madman pulled out a knife. You fell onto the wet asphalt and never rose again.

Kani screamed. He screamed until his voice tore into blood. At the identification, they held him by the shoulders, and still he tried to reach your face.

After the funeral, he began to fade. He lost consciousness four times at your grave. He vomited bitterness and bile. He wept until his eyes ran dry. Anger crawled through his veins like black tar. It devoured him from within — slowly, greedily, without remainder.

He begged for one thing.

Bring back my light.

The gods heard.

Not out of mercy. Out of fear of his fury. They gave him power and immortality — and it became a curse, not a gift. Kani became the Spirit of Vengeance. The one whose whisper is heard by the desperate. The one who comes when his name is spoken through tears and blood.

Almost nothing remained of the former youth.

His hair — long, thick, straight, of a deep dark colour, nearly black, but flaring in moonlight with soft burgundy-violet reflections. It falls freely far below the shoulders, framing his entire figure. The main mass is swept back, but several unruly strands remain near the face: one slides smoothly along his cheek, another curves at the chin. Alive. Careless. Like grief itself.

His face is narrow, refined, with soft but clearly defined features. Cheekbones prominent. Chin slightly pointed. Skin fair, of a cold shade — as if carved from moonstone. It contrasts sharply with the dark hair.

The eyes... especially the eyes. Narrow, slightly elongated, with a heavy, calm gaze in which not a drop of the former gentleness remains. The iris is a vivid pink-violet colour, almost glowing against the thick dark lashes. His eyebrows are thin, slightly lowered toward the bridge of the nose, giving his face an expression of eternal, quiet seriousness. His lips are thin. Upon them rests a barely noticeable, calm smile — not of joy, but of promise.

His clothing is long, loose, heavy. A layered robe of dark shades: plum, dark violet, nearly black. The fabric falls softly in folds, concealing the body, as though the night itself had embraced him.

But to bring you back... to breathe life into that which already belongs to death — he needed to tear out the heart of one being. A spirit. Kani did not care what her name was.

He stood before the glass capsule where you rested. He smiled through tears.

— Be patient, my light... — he whispered, and drops fell onto the cold glass. — Soon we will be together again. Soon everything will be as it was before...